The Whistle. Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABCC DDEF DDDD FFGG HHIJ DDKL DDMM NNFF OOPP FFQQ FFRS DTUU FFVV WWXY ZZA2A2 OOWW B2B2C2C2 D2D2FF| I sing of a whistle a whistle of worth | A |
| I sing of a whistle the pride of the North | B |
| Was brought to the court of our good Scottish king | C |
| And long with this whistle all Scotland shall ring | C |
| - | |
| Old Loda still rueing the arm of Fingal | D |
| The god of the bottle sends down from his hall | D |
| This whistle's your challenge to Scotland get o'er | E |
| And drink them to hell Sir or ne'er see me more | F |
| - | |
| Old poets have sung and old chronicles tell | D |
| What champions ventur'd what champions fell | D |
| The son of great Loda was conqueror still | D |
| And blew on his whistle his requiem shrill | D |
| - | |
| Till Robert the Lord of the Cairn and the Scaur | F |
| Unmatch'd at the bottle unconquer'd in war | F |
| He drank his poor godship as deep as the sea | G |
| No tide of the Baltic e'er drunker than he | G |
| - | |
| Thus Robert victorious the trophy has gain'd | H |
| Which now in his house has for ages remain'd | H |
| Till three noble chieftains and all of his blood | I |
| The jovial contest again have renew'd | J |
| - | |
| Three joyous good fellows with hearts clear of flaw | D |
| Craigdarroch so famous for wit worth and law | D |
| And trusty Glenriddel so skill'd in old coins | K |
| And gallant Sir Robert deep read in old wines | L |
| - | |
| Craigdarroch began with a tongue smooth as oil | D |
| Desiring Glenriddel to yield up the spoil | D |
| Or else he would muster the heads of the clan | M |
| And once more in claret try which was the man | M |
| - | |
| By the gods of the ancients Glenriddel replies | N |
| Before I surrender so glorious a prize | N |
| I'll conjure the ghost of the great Rorie More | F |
| And bumper his horn with him twenty times o'er | F |
| - | |
| Sir Robert a soldier no speech would pretend | O |
| But he ne'er turn'd his back on his foe or his friend | O |
| Said toss down the whistle the prize of the field | P |
| And knee deep in claret he'd die or he'd yield | P |
| - | |
| To the board of Glenriddel our heroes repair | F |
| So noted for drowning of sorrow and care | F |
| Bur for wine and for welcome not more known to fame | Q |
| Than the sense wit and taste of a sweet lovely dame | Q |
| - | |
| A bard was selected to witness the fray | F |
| And tell future ages the feats of the day | F |
| A bard who detested all sadness and spleen | R |
| And wish'd that Parnassus a vineyard had been | S |
| - | |
| The dinner being over the claret they ply | D |
| And ev'ry new cork is a new spring of joy | T |
| In the bands of old friendship and kindred so set | U |
| And the bands grew the tighter the more they were wet | U |
| - | |
| Gay Pleasure ran riot as bumpers ran o'er | F |
| Bright Phoebus ne'er witness'd so joyous a core | F |
| And vow'd that to leave them he was quite forlorn | V |
| Till Cynthia hinted he'd find them next morn | V |
| - | |
| Six bottles a piece had well wore out the night | W |
| When gallant Sir Robert to finish the fight | W |
| Turn'd o'er in one bumper a bottle of red | X |
| And swore 'twas the way that their ancestor did | Y |
| - | |
| Then worthy Glenriddel so cautions and sage | Z |
| No longer the warfare ungodly would wage | Z |
| A high ruling Elder to wallow in wine | A2 |
| He left the foul business to folks less divine | A2 |
| - | |
| The gallant Sir Robert fought hard to the end | O |
| But who can with fate and quart bumpers contend | O |
| Though fate said a hero shall perish in light | W |
| So up rose bright Phoebus and down fell the knight | W |
| - | |
| Next up rose our bard like a prophet in drink | B2 |
| Craigdarroch thou'lt soar when creation shall sink | B2 |
| But if thou would flourish immortal in rhyme | C2 |
| Come one bottle more and have at the sublime | C2 |
| - | |
| Thy line that have struggled for freedom with Bruce | D2 |
| Shall heroes and patriots ever produce | D2 |
| So thine be the laurel and mine be the bay | F |
| The field thou hast won by yon bright god of day | F |
Robert Burns
(1)
Poem topics: , Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
Submit Spanish Translation
Submit German Translation
Submit French Translation
About The Whistle.
The Whistle. is a poem by Robert Burns. This page includes the poem text, poet information, related topics, comments, and similar poems.